


wring my neck i won't feel a thing

by blenderfullasarcasm



Series: Spooktober [7]
Category: Magic Kaito, 名探偵コナン | Detective Conan | Case Closed
Genre: Apathy, Blood, Don't copy to another site, F/M, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Spooktober, Suicidal Ideation, Suicidal Thoughts, Terminal Illnesses, coughing up organs, hoo boy time for the actual warnings now, no beta we die on the hill of poor decisions, please don't read this if you're sensitive to these things, this is not a happy fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-08
Updated: 2019-10-08
Packaged: 2020-11-28 06:14:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20961821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blenderfullasarcasm/pseuds/blenderfullasarcasm
Summary: Haibara had tried to fix it.She really, really had.But it was no use.-----Spooktober Day 8 (Terminal Curse // exposed insides)





	wring my neck i won't feel a thing

**Author's Note:**

> tw: blood, suicidal thoughts, terminal illness/curse, implied character suicide, coughing up organs

Haibara had tried to fix it.

_ “Hey, Mom. I’ve tried to call you ten times by now, but I keep getting your voicemail. It’s probably because I’m using my old phone. Anyway - ” _

She really, really had.

_ “Hey, Dad. Mom’s not answering her phone. There’s something important I need to tell you. Thought I should do it now, so you don’t get too big a shock later. I’m - ” _

But it was no use.

_ “Hey, Ran.”  _

And Haibara was devastated by it, but the Apotoxin was meant to  _ destroy _ people, to make them  _ disappear _ without a trace. The fact that it hadn’t, the fact that it had made her and Shinichi  _ shrink _ instead, giving them almost perfect disguises to continue investigating - it was pure  _ luck.  _ And now, his luck must have run out, because -

_ “I’m dying.” _

Yeah. That. Shinichi had never really had the best luck.

_ “Thought you, of all people, ought to know, before it happens.” _

It was inevitable, really. It had been clear that his immune system had been compromised even before he had started using the temporary cures. He’d never used to get sick so often - and, really, he should have noticed ages ago. 

_ “I love you, you know? Like, really, actually love you, not just schoolkid stuff.” _

He does. He really, really does.

_ “I’m sorry for not telling you sooner.” _

He wished he could have told her in person, all of it, but Haibara had said that if he took even one more temporary cure, he would probably die before the transformation could even finish. His heart would explode in his chest, she’d said, eyes watery and looking away.

Honestly, he’d almost been prepared to risk it.

His current prognosis wasn’t that much better.

_ “This is...probably the last call you’ll get from me.” _

Organs and bones aren’t meant to grow, stretch, compact, expand, shrink,  _ change _ . Not quickly, at least. Not often. Really, it’s surprising that he’s survived this long without too many complications.

_ “Sorry. About everything.” _

  
  
  


He couldn’t say goodbye to his friends as Conan, of course. It would be too suspicious. Kudou Shinichi announces he’s dying, and then his cousin does, too? It might make people curious. And curious people tend to stick their noses in dangerous places…

And people who stick their noses in the wrong place?

They end up like him.

Or dead.

(He’s still not sure which is worse.)

But. 

Still.

There’s one more person he  _ can  _ say good-bye to in person without the world crashing down around him.

And besides.

It’s not like they don’t already know.

“Tantei-kun, is it true?”

Conan doesn’t jump at the sound of the door to the roof banging open. It’s an odd reversal of roles - usually it’s him throwing open the door and KID facing away from him, towards the moon, at the edge of the roof, face shrouded in shadows.

He doesn’t like it.

Conan clenches his fingers around the chain links of the fence around the edge of the roof - to prevent people from jumping off, he supposes - then turns slowly to face KID, a small smirk etched into his face.

“...Hey, KID. I shouldn’t be surprised that you have my phone tapped.”

KID waves his hand impatiently - almost flailing. It’s out of character for him, Conan notes, but his mental notes don’t really matter at this point. He’s not going to use his remaining time on earth trying to  _ arrest _ Kaitou KID.

Capture, maybe.

But after all the alibis he’s given Shinichi, all the help he’s given him, the whole Mystery Train debacle…

Conan owes him this much, at least.

“That doesn’t matter right now. Tantei-kun,  _ is it true?!” _

KID sounds almost frantic. His poker face is slipping, and Conan doesn’t really understand why. He tries reversing their situations and - 

Oh.

Of course.

They really are two sides of the same coin, aren’t they?

“You may as well call me by real name. I’ll be disappointed if you haven’t figured it out by now.”

It’s part peace offering and part selfish request, so he says it blithely, like it isn’t important. Because at this point, it really isn’t. KID’s almost certainly sped through this heist, tied the Task Force up in knots that will take  _ hours  _ to undo, because he’d caught sight of Conan earlier. 

He’s aware that he doesn’t exactly look like the pinnacle of health. At least, not to someone who can throw on perfect disguises at - literally - the drop of a hat. KID has to have a keen eye for detail, and Conan doesn’t have the energy to pretend he’s perfectly fine anymore.

He’s let the makeup covering up his pallid skin smear, leaves his shirt untucked and buttoned wrong, his tie slightly off kilter. He can’t be bothered to fix it. He stops trying to make his hands stop trembling. Stops suppressing his coughs, his shivers.

“...Kudou Shinichi. Are you...going back, then?”

Conan shudders, because it’s been  _ so long _ since someone called him by his real name to his face. Even Agasa and Hattori had stopped months ago. Haibara doesn’t call him by name at all, too full of guilt to even look at him anymore.

And then the rest of the question sinks in and he  _ laughs _ . It’s a pathetic, wheezing sound, and he can feel blood bubbling up in his throat because of it. He coughs wetly, into his shirt sleeve, and suddenly KID is there with a handkerchief instead. Conan takes it gratefully, pressing it carefully to his mouth to mop up some of the blood. 

Oh.

That there might be part of a lung, actually.

Huh.

“I can’t go back, KID. At least, not in this life.”

It’s fine. Conan’s made his peace with it, by now.

“...Why not?”

Conan doesn’t answer. 

From the look in KID’s eyes, he’s already figured it out.

He’s close enough to touch, for once, without his life being in danger. Immediate danger, that is. They aren’t diving out of an airship or gliding away from an explosion. They aren’t trapped in a cramped space together with a ticking time bomb. There’s really no reason for him to be this close, and, technically, they  _ are _ at a heist…

Conan reaches out and places a hand on his shoulder.

“Caught you, KID.”

KID laughs, and it sounds even worse than Conan’s. It’s broken, wet, cracking at the edges.

“You sure have.”

He’s still smiling, of course. It’s his mask, his glasses and bowtie, his ‘I saw it on TV,’ his ‘Shinichi-niichan told me,’ his Sleeping Kogoro. It’s frayed at the edges, like a threadbare shirt worn too often - it’s starting to fall apart at the seams.

“You may as well call me Kuroba, then. Kaito, even.”

Conan can feel his engraved smirk crack a little at the edges.

“Yeah? Thanks, Kuroba Kaito.”

Kaito’s grin seems a little less sewn on. It’s still twitching downwards at the corners, but less so, now. 

“My pleasure, Kudou.”

Conan grins - just a little - his lopsided smirk evening out the tiniest bit.

KID’s voluntarily told him his name.

He knows it’s because he’s dying, because he looks like a kid, because no one would believe him even if he  _ did _ manage to tell anyone before choking to death on his own blood.

But still. 

It means something.

“I really do think it’s mine, Kuroba.”

Conan says it vacantly, letting his mouth run without paying too much attention. There’s no point, really.

His eyes focus on the seam of KID’s suit, where he’s still ‘caught’ KID, the one that attaches his hang glider to his jacket. He rubs the stitching absently, feeling the difference between the two fabrics. He has no idea how KID manages to keep his suit so pristinely white.

Conan’s eyes catch on his shirt sleeve, where a few drops of blood marr the crisp cleanliness. 

Honestly, the best he can really hope for at this point is that the curse of being a crime magnet takes him out before the Apotoxin does.

“Kudou, I - ”

There’s a glint of light from a building nearby.

Then there’s a small  _ pop _ , and Conan probably wouldn’t even have noticed if the faint reflection hadn’t caught his attention, if he hadn’t been listening for it, just in case. 

Because now there’s a bullet heading straight for KID.

He’s not wearing a bullet-proof vest, and he won’t be able to dodge this time.

What’s a dying detective to do?

(Sorry, Ran. 

KID. 

Haibara.

Hakase.

Mom. 

Dad.)

(It’s not your fault.)

_ “Meitantei,  _ ** _no - !_ ** _ ” _

**Author's Note:**

> this got very dark very quickly
> 
> i promise some of my detective conan fics are funny. some of them are like this. but most of them are funny. 
> 
> title from Last of Me (Circus-P)


End file.
